


Better Than Wine

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, But mostly fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 02:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17378303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “My goodness. How on Earth does a Canadian hockey player end up at a community college in the middle of Georgia?” Jack’s face fell, and suddenly Eric wished he hadn’t said anything at all. He started to apologize, but Jack beat him to the punch.“I’m, well, I’m— I’m taking a break, I guess. I wanted to go somewhere far away from home, a place where nobody knows me. Someplace small. After a while of looking, I ended up here. It’s about as far away from home as I can get without going overseas, and they have an ice rink here.”Eric thought back to his hometown— his blue-eyed youth pastor, his family, his teachers, the grocery store where everyone knows everyone and nothing is a secret— and understood where Jack was coming from.———Eric doesn't go to Samwell for his freshman year of college. Somehow, everything still works out.





	Better Than Wine

**Author's Note:**

> this is self indulgent nonsense and i'm NOT sorry
> 
> big shout out to everyone in The Discord and also Ava for putting up with me
> 
> a quick warning: this deals a lot with homophobia in the deep south cause i grew up in the deep south and i was Not Straight At All, Openly. parts of this are autobiographical because i have no shame. (that being said, i'm a girl and i'm used to writing about lesbians and/or spock so like?? be warned i guess??? i just love eric bittle a lot. send help.)

_Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth_

_For your love is better than wine_

_...Take me away with you._

_Let us hurry._

* * *

Nora Valley Community College didn’t look quite... _Real_ . It wasn’t ethereal or haunting in any way; in fact, it looked quite bland. It looked _too_ bland. It looked like something out of a comic book— more stereotype than reality, as if space aliens had tried to make an Earthling college based only on their passing familiarity with “Indiana Jones.” The hallways smelled like pencil erasers. The professors wore dusty tweed and moth-eaten earth tone sweaters. Bulletin boards lined the halls and fluorescent lighting lined the ceilings.

 

Eric lived in the dorms, an untidy collection of numbered brick buildings on the edge of campus. His room was an affront to mankind, but thanks to his athletic scholarship, it was a _free_ affront to mankind. _Athletic scholarship,_ Eric thought, staring at the water stains on his paneled ceiling. _Oh lord, what have I gotten myself into?_

 

Nora Valley had a hockey team. It wasn’t much, but Eric knew that if he did well enough, he could earn a transfer scholarship to Samwell University and leave the stifling heat of Georgia behind for good. _Two years,_ he thought, peering at a suspicious crack in the ceiling. His roommate snored loudly in the bed across from him. _I guess that’s not too long. I can handle two years._

 

A week later, he wasn’t so sure.

 

The hockey team didn’t seem to like him much— he was too _different_ for their tastes. Eric was small, round, and kind. Eric liked cinnamon lattes with extra cinnamon and pop music with extra pop. The hockey team were a bunch of burly football rejects with ratty mustaches and a penchant for basketball shorts. Eric was made of sugar, spice, and everything nice; the hockey team was made of dirt, AXE body spray, and everything heterosexual.

 

Eric collapsed no less than a dozen times over the course of his first week, sinking onto the ice as though he might be able to melt through it if he tried hard enough. It was torture.

 

His classes, at least, were better. They were easier than the ice’s torment. Most of them were core classes, filled with sleepy teenage hopefuls, exhausted single mothers, and excitable middle-aged lifelong learners. In Spanish, Eric sat next to a girl named Jenna, a girl with tumbleweed blonde hair, a round physique, and rosy cheeks. Each day, she wore heavy makeup around her eyes and a delicate silver cross around her neck.

 

“Eric,” she chirped after class one day, her voice like birdsong, “it’s Eric, right? I never see you outside of class. You should come hang out at the BSM with us sometime!”

 

Eric blinked at her, bleary eyed with exhaustion. It was his first class of the day— he was barely awake. Jenna only laughed. “Oh, you boys are so silly. Ya’ll’d be lost without us girls, huh? Here, take this,” she said, handing him a pamphlet, “I’d love to see you come join us!”

 

And with that, Jenna trotted away, her bulky keychain jangling against her monogrammed coffee cup. Eric looked down at the card stock she’d forced between his fingers.

 

_Join us at the Nora Valley Baptist Student Ministry! Open every day noon to midnight. Bible study and snacks every Wednesday night. For more info, check out our Facebook page!_

 

Eric swallowed thickly. He hadn’t planned on going to church, now that he was on his own. He didn’t think he could handle it— being lectured about ‘unconditional love’ by people who would cast him aside if they ever knew the truth.

 

Sighing, he slipped the paper into his backpack and shuffled off to his next class. The air felt thicker after Jenna’s invitation. _I wonder if she knows_ , he thought. _Maybe she wants to save my soul. Maybe she pities me. Or maybe, she doesn’t know at all. Maybe she wouldn’t have bothered to invite me if she knew._

 

Eric remembers the youth minister at his church telling them about homosexuality. “I know it’s hard to talk about,” he’d said, blue eyes gentle and kind. “A lot of you have asked-- what does God _really_ think about homosexuality? Is it really that bad? Fortunately, y’all, we don’t have to wonder. Leviticus 20:13 says this-- _If there is a man who lies with a male as those who lie with a woman, both of them have committed a detestable act._ This sentiment shows up in the New Testament too. Flip over to Romans 1…”

 

Eric had hidden his clenched fists under the table. He didn’t turn the page over. He already knew what it said. _In the same way also,_ he quoted to himself, _the men abandoned the natural function of the woman and burned in their desire toward one another, men with men committing indecent acts and receiving in their own persons the due penalty of their error._ He’d read the words over and over again, praying that God wouldn’t make him gay. It hadn’t worked.

 

After that day, Eric had stopped going to youth group. Every once in a while, the youth minister would see him in town and smile tightly, those kind blue eyes barely concealing his judgement. Eric would bite his lip and turn away.  

 

Eric’s mind leapt back to the present and he shook his head like a wet dog, ridding himself of those memories. He walked to his next class with heavy legs.

 

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Hockey practice was cancelled— the coach had a ‘family emergency.’ Eric felt only relief when he read the e-mail. Most of the hockey boys went to go release their frustrations in the gym.

 

Eric didn’t go to the gym. Instead, he went to the skating rink, which was unlocked, but empty. Hazy and dim, the rink felt like another world, untouched by time and reality— like a high school after hours, or an empty football stadium at dusk. Tucked away in the corner of the locker room, Eric reached deep into the bowels of his hockey bag and pulled out a pair of worn Riedell figure skates.

 

Skating onto the ice unencumbered by hockey gear felt like coming home. Eric glided around the rink for a few moments, letting himself readjust to the sensation of light skates and a lighter body. Then, he built up speed, launching himself into a double toe loop. His landing wasn’t perfect, but then, he was out of practice. He tried again, this time landing with the sort of grace that can only be acquired through hours and hours of exhausting practice.

 

“I never understood how people were able to do that,” came a voice from the sidelines. Eric nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around to face the intruder, and saw a dark haired boy in hockey skates take a tentative step onto the ice.

 

The newcomer was tall and broad, but unlike Eric’s hockey compatriots, he wasn’t imposing. His expression was soft and kind. His lips— soft, pink, inviting— were twisted into a lopsided grin.

 

“Sorry,” the boy added quickly, “I didn’t mean to scare you! I didn’t think anyone would be in here. The hockey team cancelled practice, I thought they were all in the gym right now.”

 

Eric sighed. “Yeah, I know— I thought nobody would be in here either. But hey, that’s alright! My name is Eric. I’m a freshman on the hockey team.” Eric skated forward, extending a hand to the intruder.

 

The boy’s eyebrows pinched in confusion. “You’re on the hockey team?”

 

“Yes, I am,” Eric asserted, used to this line of inquiry. “I’m actually a figure skater, or at least I used to be. I couldn’t really do it anymore, not without moving further north, but I wanted to stay on the ice. Truth is, I don’t know much about hockey.”

 

The boy smiled. “No, you don’t,” he chuckled. “Not that— ah, never mind. My name is Jack,” he said, finally taking Eric’s hand. Eric willed himself not to blush at the brief moment of skin-to-skin contact. Neither of them had bothered to put on gloves. “I study history, but I play— I _used_ to play hockey. I still practice every day—old habits.”

 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jack,” Eric said brightly. Jack's eyes were blue, perhaps bluer than Eric had ever seen. _Or maybe you’re just super gay_ , Eric’s subconscious supplied helpfully. _Shut up,_ Eric thought back.

 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Eric. I guess I’ll just— yeah.”

 

Eric took one half of the rink, and Jack took the other. Eric felt strange, unused to the intimate sensation of sharing the ice with one other person. He’d planned on putting in headphones and letting Beyonce lead him through an impromptu routine, but he didn’t feel comfortable doing that with a stranger present. Instead, he turned off his mind and let his body slide into an Ina Bauer, bending backwards until he almost couldn’t breathe.

 

“ _Calices de Crisse de tabarnak._ ” The words were barely a whisper, but they rang clearly through the air of the almost empty rink. Startled, Eric bolted upright and whipped around to see Jack looking flushed and embarrassed.

 

“ _Crisse_ , I’m sorry,” Jack rushed, “I didn’t mean to scare you! I just, uh, I’m not used to seeing figure skating, eh?”

 

“Oh lord, it’s alright,” Eric laughed, “I’m just not used to an audience of one, I guess. Are you… was that French? It’s just, it certainly wasn’t English and you don’t sound like you’re from around here. No offense! Not that being—”

 

“Eric, please, it’s all right,” Jack said, stopping his nervous ramble. “It was Quebecois, I’m Canadian.” Eric raised an eyebrow.

 

“My goodness. How on _Earth_ does a Canadian hockey player end up at a community college in the middle of _Georgia_?” Jack’s face fell, and suddenly Eric wished he hadn’t said anything at all. He started to apologize, but Jack beat him to the punch.

 

“I’m, well, I’m— I’m taking a break, I guess. I wanted to go somewhere far away from home, a place where nobody knows me. Someplace small. After a while of looking, I ended up here. It’s about as far away from home as I can get without going overseas, and they have an ice rink here.”

 

Eric thought back to his hometown— his blue-eyed youth pastor, his family, his teachers, the grocery store where everyone knows everyone and nothing is a secret— and understood where Jack was coming from.

 

“Yeah,” Eric said. “I know what you mean. The town I grew up in only had a few thousand folks living there. I could probably name every kid I went to school with, and they could all name me. It’s a lot of scrutiny. Everyone thinks they know you, even if they don’t.”

 

Jack locked eyes with Eric and stared for a moment, looking startled and vulnerable. “Yeah,” he whispered, “something like that. Anyway, Eric, you’re a great skater. I’ll have to come see a game sometime, eh?”

 

“Oh,” Eric said, “Are you leaving already?”

 

“Yeah, I have homework and— yeah. I’m just, uh, I’ll just go. I’ll see you around, eh?”

 

Eric couldn’t help but smile as he replied, “Yeah, Jack, I’ll see you around.”

* * *

 

_My beloved spoke, and said to me,_

_"Rise up, my love, my beautiful one, and come away._

_For, behold, the winter is past._

_The rain is over and gone._

* * *

 

The day after next, Bitty found himself in Spanish class once again. Jenna— whose pamphlet still sat crumpled in Eric’s backpack— looked as put-together as always. Her nails were painted a soft peach color, and her hair was pulled back into a fluffy, stylish ponytail. As always, she paid rapt attention to the professor, taking neat, highlighted notes in a stylish three ring binder.

 

Eric, on the other hand, gazed absently at the whiteboard, barely listening to the professor’s rant about _o-as-a-amos-áis-an_ . He let his mind wander, thinking about dark hair and silver-blue eyes and soft, plush lips. _Jack_ , he thought absently, letting the name echo through his mind. He hadn’t seen Jack at all since that afternoon at the rink. _Don’t be so maudlin,_ he thought to himself, _good lord, Dicky, it’s only been two days._

 

There was just something _about_ Jack. Jack was six-foot-one of Canadian steel, but he also seemed vulnerable in a way that Eric wasn’t used to seeing in male athletes. Jack was soft and kind. He spoke French under his breath and appreciated the technique and artistry off figure skating even though he didn’t really understand it. Jack hadn’t seemed to mind that he was a tiny hockey player who knew how to do a double toe loop. Jack was… Different.

 

“Hey, Eric,” Jenna said gently, snapping him out of his reverie. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to burst your bubble, but class just ended.”

 

“Oh lord, I’m sorry,” Eric exclaimed, jumping up out of his seat and gathering his things. “I swear I’m not usually this absentminded, I guess it’s just been a long week.”

 

“That’s okay,” Jenna giggled. “You seemed pretty lost in thought there. Anything buggin’ you?”

 

Jenna started walking, and Eric tagged behind, flushing slightly as he remembered what he’d been thinking about just moments before. “Oh, uh, not really,” he said. “I’m just tired. Hockey practice.”

 

Jenna, much like _every other human being, damn it,_ was surprised by this. “Oh! You’re on the hockey team? That’s great! I didn’t even know we had a hockey team,” she said. She sounded genuinely excited, bless her heart.

 

“Oh, it’s not much, mind you,” Bitty continued, “but it’s better than nothing. I was actually a figure skater, before.”

 

“Oooh,” Jenna breathed, “I’ll bet you looked great out there. Must be a great way to impress girls, what with all the lifting and the dancing.”

 

Eric thought back to his last skating competition. He’d performed a singles skate routine in a beautiful, delicate blue blouse with sequins and flowing sleeves. Afterwards, he’d made out with a boy named Jason in an unused utility closet.

 

“Yeah,” Eric said slowly. “Something like that.”

 

“Anyway,” Jenna sighed, “I guess I should go. I’m on baking duty all afternoon.”

 

Eric perked up significantly. “Baking duty?” Jenna nodded.

 

“Yeah, I’m supposed to make cookies,” she elaborated. “We’re having a smash tournament at the BSM tonight. I’m a terrible baker, though.” Eric had no clue what a ‘smash tournament’ entailed, nor did he understand why they were hosting one at a Baptist Student Ministry, but the prospect of baking was enticing enough that Jenna had his full, undivided attention.

 

“You have your own kitchen?”

 

“Oh, goodness, no,” she laughed, “I live on campus. The BSM has its own kitchen. Students are free to use it whenever, provided that they clean up after themselves. I’m on the youth leadership team, so I’m in charge of snacks every couple of weeks.”

 

“Jenna,” Eric said seriously. “I will make cookies. Lord above, Jenna, I promise you, I’ll make any baked good you can _imagine_ if you tell me where this kitchen is. I’ll come over right after my next class.” Jenna gave him directions. The BSM was right across the street from the college’s main building— within walking distance, thank heavens.

 

That’s the story of how one Eric Richard Bittle, raving homosexual and reluctant hockey player, found himself on the doorstep of the Nora Valley College Baptist Student Ministry.

 

“Eric! You’re just in time,” Jenna squealed, alerting Eric to the location of the kitchen. The building had an open floor plan with a TV, a dining area, and a few back offices. The kitchen was nestled into the back left corner, open in such a way that a chef could watch TV and converse while cooking. It was actually quite nice, Eric had to admit.

 

Eric didn’t take _too_ much time to appreciate the decor, however. There were _pies_ to be made.

 

The kitchen was a bit sad— obviously not cared for with the sort of maintenance and precision favored by his moomaw-- but it would have to do. It had all the basics, and there were a ton of dusty preserves in the cupboard just begging to be given life.

 

Jenna had asked for a plate of cookies. Jenna received _three_ plates of cookies, four pies, a pan full of cinnamon rolls, and a coffee cake.

 

“Wow, Eric,” Jenna whispered, awestruck, “you weren’t kidding when you said you liked to bake, huh?”

 

“Oh, honey,” Eric laughed, “I _never_ joke about baking.”

 

“Fuck me sideways and call me a monkey’s uncle, why does it smell like I’ve died and gone to a heaven filled with delicious pie?”

 

“Oh my gosh, Knight! I keep telling you, you can’t say stuff like that here,” Jenna hissed, clearly displeased with the man’s outburst.

 

“Jenna, you’re a sweet kid, and I appreciate you,” the man said, “but my name is Shitty, and there is no force on Earth that will ever put a damper on my irreverence. I’m only here for the Smash. Also, I know for a fact you didn’t bake all this shit. You hate baking.”

 

“No, I didn’t,” Jenna sighed, rolling her eyes. “You can thank Eric for that. He heard we had a kitchen and practically ran here to test it out. Apparently, he’s quite the baker.”

 

“Oh lord, I’m not all that,” Eric said, waving an oven mitt dismissively, “y’all should see my MooMaw, that woman could bake the pillsbury dough man himself under a table.”

 

“Eric, that is a terrifying image,” Shitty said, grabbing a cookie and taking a bite. He moaned with pleasure in a way that would be inappropriate in a _brothel_ , much less a church. Jenna looked like she was going to combust. “Also, will you marry me? Actually, no, that was rude of me. I should at least take you out to dinner first. Although you can probably make better food than anything a restaurant could offer.”

 

Eric laughed brightly. “Actually, I’m much more of a baker than I am a chef,” Eric admitted, “and as funny as you are, I’d rather not marry a stranger.”

 

“Alas,” Shitty said, wiping away fake tears, “it seems that we simply weren’t meant to be, Eric. You’re too good for me anyway. I’m a boring heterosexual hockey player. I don’t deserve to be married to a tiny male baker, no matter how delicious his cookies are.”

 

“You guys are ridiculous,” Jenna huffed, walking away to greet the newcomers who were evidently here to play ‘Smash,’ something Eric still wasn’t clear about.

 

“Oh, you play hockey? You must not be on the team here,” Eric said. “I’d recognize you if you were, cause, well. Believe it or not, _I’m_ on the hockey team?”

 

“No shit,” Shitty said excitedly, “really? Well there’s no way I’m calling you Eric, then. What’s your hockey nickname?”

 

“My… hockey nickname,” Eric deadpanned. “I don’t have one? I’m just— I’m just Eric.”

 

“Dude! No way,” Shitty all but yelled, “you need a hockey nickname! It’s like, a law! Trust me, my dude, I’m studying pre-law. You have to have a hockey nickname.”

 

“Alright,” Eric drawled, “and just how does one get a hockey nickname, Mr. Knight?”

 

“First of all, Mr. Knight is my father, and he’s a huge jackass, so please don’t call me that,” Shitty said, though he didn’t sound at all offended. “Second of all, what’s your last name?”

 

“Bittle,” Eric answered. Shitty gasped and made a face as though he’d just unlocked all the secrets of the universe.

 

“My God, it’s a miracle,” he whispered, “you’re Bitty. It’s the perfect nickname, dude. It suits you. You’re Bitty now. Bitty is you.”

 

 _Bitty_ , Eric thought. It was… actually kind of sweet, how adamant this stranger was that he needed a hockey nickname. He was so used to being shunned by his team. This felt different. This felt-- well, it felt a hell of a lot like acceptance. Eric-- _Bitty_ \-- wasn’t used to acceptance.

 

“Alright,” Eric laughed, his face breaking into a wide smile, “you can call me Bitty.”

 

“You’re a good man, Bitty— _Bits_ — damn, Bits is good too,” he mumbled thoughtfully. “Anyway! I have asses to kick, Bitty. I’ll see you after the tournament. Unless you’re playing too?”

 

“Oh, lord, no,” Bitty said, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what y’all are playing. And besides, I have to hockey practice in about an hour, I need to go get ready.”

 

“Dude, you don’t play Smash? That’s a goddamn travesty,” Shitty said. “Here, I’m gonna give you my number. That’s okay, right? I like having hockey friends who aren’t drowning in toxic masculinity, and you need to learn how to play Smash. I feel as though this is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

 

Eric leaves the BSM with a new number in his phone and a smile on his face.

 

And then— a testament to his luck— he runs right into someone.

 

“Oh my gracious, I’m so sorry,” he says, standing up and brushing himself off. “I wasn’t paying attention and I—” Eric looks up into those eyes, those silvery blue eyes, and knows in an instant that he’s absolutely _screwed._ “Oh lord, Jack! Hi there! Oh my goodness I—”

 

“It’s okay,” Jack says, and he’s _smiling_ , bless his heart. “I wasn’t paying attention either. Do you go here often?” Jack is gesturing to the BSM. Eric stares at him, dumbfounded.

 

“Huh? Oh good heavens, no, I’m not—” he pauses, terrified. “That is to say, not that I’m not— not that I don’t—”

 

“Me neither,” Jack whispers, his tone playfully conspiratorial. “Don’t worry. My friend Shitty insisted that I come watch him play ‘smash.’ He was pretty adamant about it.”

 

“Oh! Shitty!” Jack coked his head at Eric’s exclamation. “I just met him. He, um. He asked to marry me, then he gave me a hockey nickname. I have his number now! He’s a sweet boy.”

 

Jack nodded sagely. “That’s Shitty for you. I’ve only known him for about a month, but he has a way of growing on you very quickly. What’s your hockey nickname?”

 

“Oh, uh, Bitty,” Eric said, blushing slightly. “It’s Bitty. Do you have one?”

 

“Bitty, eh? I like it. And, no,” Jack said, shaking his head. “None of them ever stuck. I’m just…. Jack. Just Jack.”

 

“Well Mr. Just Jack, it’s been lovely to see you again, but I’ve got practice to go to,” Eric said, despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to step closer and watch Jack smile for the rest of the afternoon. _Or for the rest of my life,_ Eric thought unhelpfully.

 

“Oh, right, well,” Jack laughed, “you’re friends with Shitty now, so I’ll be seeing more of you, eh?”

 

“Yeah,” Bitty said, smiling. “I’ll see you around, Jack.”

 

“I’ll see you around, Bitty.”

* * *

_  
My beloved is mine, and I am his. _

_He browses among the lilies._

_Until the day is cool, and the shadows flee away,_

_turn, my beloved,_

_and be like a roe or a young deer on the mountains of Bether._

  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! i love you!! this story is fully planned out and i'll update it soon-ish don't worry (sadfhaskdjfhlak i haven't posted a WIP in forever i'm NOT used to this i'm SORRY)
> 
> a couple of notes:
> 
> 1.) shitty is here cause i said so (jk u will find out why)  
> 2.) the BSM at my deep south community college did, in fact, have smash tournaments. this is a real thing that happens. idk why  
> 3.) hi my name is parsnip and i'm addicted to em dashes  
> 4.) this wasn't rlly beta-ed or anythign i'm soRRY  
> 5.) this started out as a take me to church AU as suggested by Noa (queenofseventeen) i have NO clue what happened and i'm sorrRY  
> 6.) that's all thanks 4 making it this far


End file.
